


...Rumple and Emma had a drink.

by BarPurple



Series: So this one time... [5]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, F/M, Fluff, Tiny bit of Angst, drinking buddies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-22
Updated: 2016-03-22
Packaged: 2018-05-28 09:17:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6323701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BarPurple/pseuds/BarPurple
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p><b>SPOILERS IN THE COMMENTS</b><br/>Just in case you're not up to date yet</p>
    </blockquote>





	...Rumple and Emma had a drink.

**Author's Note:**

> **SPOILERS IN THE COMMENTS**  
>  Just in case you're not up to date yet

The bell above the door jingled, but Rumple didn’t get out of his chair in the back room. At this time of night, on this day there would only be one person coming to the shop. The flash of red and blonde in his peripheral vision provided the confirmation. He didn’t rush; the timepiece he was working on was delicate. Once the final tiny cog was in place he eased back and blew out a slow breath. He hand reached out automatically and wasn’t disappointed to find a tumbler of dark ruby liquid waiting at the edge of his workbench. He took a slow slip and finally raised his eyes to his late night guest.

“So we’re on the rum tonight, Miss Swan.”

Emma dropped heavily into an antique armchair that Rumple knew for a fact was worth more than her precious Bug. She drained half of her own glass in one. 

“Didn’t want the whiskey lecture again.”

Rumple snorted. He had provided the liquor for their last little session and had fuzzy memories of trying to instil an appreciation for firewater in the Saviour. It hadn’t worked. He still cringed a bit at the way she threw back fifteen year old Dalmore as if she was slamming tequila. He took a deep drink from his own glass, no need to savour this stuff. 

“How’s Belle?”

“She’s well, and Killian?”

“Pretty good. Apparently they were discussing the nature of time across the realms.”

Emma stretched forward and refilled their glasses. 

“Well they were in the right state for it; temporal mechanics and sobriety don’t mix in my experience.”

The two of them fell into silence as they drank. This was their pattern for night’s like this; polite inquiry about their significant others, followed by at least half a bottle of whatever they were drinking. Talking only came once they were well on the way to buzzed. It was Emma who broke the silence tonight.

“Okay, I’ve got to know. We were the only Dark Ones to go with leather?”

The final bit of tension that had lingered in Rumple’s shoulders eased away. If Emma was asking about fashion choices then this was going to be an easy night. He was glad of it, their conversations were always about the Curse they had both carried, but at least they were treading on the lighter side of the darkness. The raking over of the more painful memories of the Dark One tended to need more of a clean-up in the morning and left them both feeling more shite than could be blamed on a simple hangover. He motioned at her near empty glass with the bottle; she passed it over for a refill as he got his thoughts lined up.

“Unless you count Magdalene, who was a dragon, then yes I was the first to go with leather. The rest stuck to monkish robes. Considering you day-to-day sartorial choices the leather made sense for you.”

He didn’t need to add ‘the same goes for the pirate’, it hung in the air between them, but they ignored it in favour of keeping tonight easier.

“I was surprised by your hair though.”

Emma laughed, almost spraying the room with rum.

“So was I, that wasn’t a choice. I guess that was like your eyes changing?”

“Never minded that bit, added to the whole,” Rumple twirled his free hand in a pale imitation of his old theatrical gestures, “Inhuman imp bit. At least you didn’t go scaly.”

“How far did they go?”

Even under the influence of rum Emma blushed as her brain caught up with what her mouth had blurted out. She didn’t fumble and try to retract the question. Rumple had always been a little impressed with her reaction to embarrassment, he expected nothing less than bull headed stubbornness from her, but it was always nice to see. He grinned and leant forward a bit as he whispered;

“Head to toe, dearie.”

Emma cocked her head to one side and looked at him thoughtfully. He knew there was a follow up question coming, he just wasn’t sure if he was drunk enough for some of the more probing possibilities. He took another hefty swig of rum just in case.

“Did you moult?”

Rumple frowned, people had an odd curiosity about his scaled skin, but the only person who had ever been brave enough to ask questions was his Belle, and even she hadn’t asked that.

“No I did not moult. Why would I?”

Emma gave him a half shrug.

“You had scales, things with scales moult.”

Rumple opened his mouth, but closed it quickly when he realised that he didn’t have a comeback for that display of logic. The rum was obviously having its intended effect because his tongue was normally sharper than this. His tongue, oh that would make Emma laugh.

“I did glamour my tongue so it was forked once.”

Emma threw her head back and cackled at that revelation.

“Why didn’t you keep it like that?”

“There’s a reason talking snakes lisp. The accent makes me hard enough to understand sometimes, a lisp just got frustrating.”

He decided not to mention that he scraped the first person who had mocked the lisp from the sole of his boots.

Emma went to refill their glasses only to find the bottle empty. She held it up to Rumple who refilled it with a wave of his hand. He wouldn’t trust Emma to perform that simple charm, not after the last time she’d tried and the bottle had filled with Sambuca. Rumple couldn’t stand liquorice.

“I changed my hair at first. Went bright pink for about five minutes.”

It was Rumple’s turn to nearly choke on his drink.

“Never pegged you for a punk, Miss Swan.”

“Seemed like the perfect time to indulge in a bit of late teen rebellion. Was not a good look for me.”

Their shared laughter took them into a spell of thoughtful silence. Rumple sighed;

“I miss my dragon hide coat.”

Emma sniffed and blinked at this tangent.

“You still have it? You could wear it again.”

No one would question it; firstly because a lot of people had taken to wearing what Emma thought of as Enchanted Forest gear, corsets and jeans would always look bizarre to her, who chose to wear a corset? Secondly who would question anything Gold wore? As long as it didn’t involve murder and mayhem.

Gold gave a sorrowful sigh.

“It’s gone. Belle claims it suffered a laundry mishap. But I ask you how can someone be so bad at laundry that they incinerate dragon hide?”

“How did she manage that?”

Gold frowned at his rum and muttered;

“I suspect petrol and persistence. She hated that coat.”

Emma’s mind provided an image of Belle armed with Granny’s welding gear. It was actually a very terrifying thought, which spawned imaginings of what could have been if Gold had found himself in her position; Belle dying in his arms and the only options leaving him between unbearable loss, or cursed darkness. As if he sensed the dark turn her thoughts had taken Gold guided the conversation back to safer realms.

“I have a question, where did Swan come from?”

Emma shook her head free of the image of a leather-clad Belle with reptilian eyes.

“What?”

“Your surname. Your mother named you Emma, but where did the Swan come from?”

“The diner they found me and August at. It had swans on the menu.”

Rumple wrinkled his nose.

“They served roast swan?”

“No! Pictures of swans. Who the hell eats roast swan?”

“Regina. Quite the popular dish for royals in the Enchanted Forest. Far too gamey and tough in my opinion. Is that why our wooden friend took the name booth, because of the diner?”

“I think he picked that for himself later on, along with the middle initial.”

“The air of mystery,” Gold snorted, “Better than going by Pinocchio.”

“Seriously? Rumplestiltskin is sneering at other people’s names?”

Rumple drew himself up in an indignant huff that would have been more impressive if his elbow hadn’t missed the edge of the table. He corrected himself and tried to remember what he was going to say. Names? His name, right.

“I’ll have you know that Rumplestiltskin is a very old family name. That I really don’t like,” he slumped slightly and beckoned Emma closer so he could whisper, “Don’t tell Regina, but I prefer Gold. Easier to sign. Quicker too.”

Emma nodded sagely and snagged the bottle from the table. She refilled Gold’s glass, but ignored her own in favour of swigging directly from the bottle.

“We’ll turn you into a pirate yet, Swan.”

Emma and Gold turned to the doorway to find Killian leaning against it.

“Sneaky pirate. You need a bell.”

Killian flashed a toothy grin at Rumple.

“Funny you should say that…”

“How bad is it this time?”

Belle’s chestnut curls appeared at Killian’s side and Rumple reached out for her.

“She’s my Belle, pirate. Keep ya greasy paws off.”

Belle clucked at her husband and moved to his side. He wrapped his arms around her waist and nuzzled his face into ribs.

“Killian’s paws haven’t been anywhere near me Rum. He wouldn’t dare.”

“Because there’d be a race as to who kicked him in the jewels first.”

Killian smiled at Emma’s growled and slightly slurred comment. He pushed himself away from the doorframe and covered the distance to her in two easy strides. He picked her up and tried not to bounce her too much as he settled her in his arms.

“Come on my little rum barrel, let’s get you home.”

Emma muttered something that sounded like my pirate against his chest. Killian nodded towards Belle.

“You need a hand with him?”

Belle looked up, but didn’t stop stroking Gold’s hair. Killian fancied that he could hear the man purring.

“We’ll be fine. I’ll tuck him up in the cot once I’ve got some water into him.”

Killian nodded and started towards the door. The last thing he heard as he left the shop was;

“She’s named after a diner.”


End file.
